Page 53 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
Charlotte and Mr. Collins called on Rosings several mornings each week. I walked with them the first time, then wished them well and followed my own path through the trees.
We met on their return.
“Lady Catherine asked after you,” Charlotte said.
“Really? I thought she had enough of bolts.”
“She was quite insistent that you return. As was a gentleman.” I looked at her questioningly and saw a smile. “Mr. Darcy. Were you expecting another gentleman?”
“I was not expectinganygentleman.” Had his gamekeeper spoken to him? I hoped not. I preferred to keep my interest in draca private.
Two days later, this repeated, but we were invited to dine the next day. That was inescapable.
“At least the food is good,” I said grudgingly. “But I shall have to prepare facts on screws to offer over soup.”
“I detected disappointment that you would not be present until tomorrow.” Charlotte had an arch expression, but I could not imagine why her ladyship was impatient.
That afternoon, Charlotte read her correspondence, and I started a letter to Jane. Then the doorbell jingled. Mr. Collins dashed into the small drawing room as the maid announced Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Charlotte had mentioned Colonel Fitzwilliam, another nephew of Lady Catherine. I looked him over while Mr. Collins bent and flounced. He was about thirty, rather tanned, and had a frizz of sandy brown hair. He was not handsome exactly, but he had the confident bearing of an officer and the manners and speech of a gentleman. When Mr. Collins released him, he bowed to my curtsy with a relaxed smile. I immediately liked him.
Mr. Darcy wore gray afternoon calling dress as impeccable as anything he had worn in Hertfordshire. He paid his compliments to Charlotte with his usual reserve, and Mr. Collins’s ludicrous bowing and scraping did not affect his composure.
I was a little perturbed to encounter him again. I curtsied without speaking, and he gave one of his sharp bows in equal silence.
Colonel Fitzwilliam began conversation and soon mentioned their visit.
“Darcy and I are cousins, but good friends nonetheless.” He laughed disarmingly, and Mr. Darcy concurred with a barely perceptible nod. “While walking, Darcy mentioned his acquaintance with Mr. Collins. Naturally, we had to call.”
Charlotte and I traded a glance. Calling Mr. Collins an acquaintance of Mr. Darcy was unfathomably generous—doubly so from what I knew of Mr. Darcy’s taste.
I spoke with the colonel, who had interesting observations on Rosings, including a few polite but amusing allusions to her ladyship’s opinions. Then it was news of the war. He was well informed, and interested in my view, and the whole thing was vastly more entertaining than dull topics like the weather. We conversed rather too long until he remembered his manners and shifted his attention to Charlotte.
That left Mr. Darcy, who was rigid and serious. He had ignored Mr. Collins, which I found oddly reassuring. But he was capable of conversation. At Netherfield, he had thawed enough for several long exchanges. They were even, if one listened closely, witty.
Noticing my attention, he inquired about the health of my family.
“They are well,” I said, the usual response. Then I added, “I wonder if you remember my eldest sister, Jane?” He had to nod, so I continued, “I am afraid her days are rather lonely with me away.”
That was a provocative and strange thing to say in company. But I was certain Miss Bingley had forced her brother away from my sister. Mr. Darcy’s reaction when he told me of Mr. Bingley’s departure made me suspect he knew the truth.
Conflicted emotions crossed Mr. Darcy’s face, too fleeting and well concealed to be deciphered. “I am sure your sister’s charm will ensure society even in your absence. I fear more that, in her absence, you will find your own visit dull.”
That was polite, but a laugh escaped before I could stop myself. The dullest society I knew was sitting in front of me in a gray jacket. He stiffened, so I asked if he thought the days were growing warmer.
While walking the next morning,I met the Pemberley gamekeeper again, hiking in his leathers and battered hat.
“Ma’am,” he said politely, turning to head back.
“Please, do not leave. I was about to return myself.”
But I hesitated. On hunts, gamekeepers are respected, or even deferred to, by gentlemen. That fostered a relaxed attitude toward mingling. And this man had remarkable knowledge of draca.
“Are you visiting the wyvern?” I asked.
His weathered lips smiled. “If she deigns to visit me.”
“I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
